The azure skies above the Lucky Fortune were darkening with far more than the advance of eventide. The Fates had plotted to wreck havoc, and make the tavern’s optimistic title a mocking lie by weaving black thread into the lives of all those gathered there. Ill fortune hovered all around and sat in every room. The momentous blow, the kidnapping of the bride, was now reverberating across the paths of many lives.<BR><BR>Upon the upper floor two lives were locked in bitter conflict. An age old animosity, harbored dormant for many years, had sprung to violent life, touched off by the days ultimate misfortune. The days events were trigger to the struggle Erinhue and Culinar waged now against each other but the true source lay in their feelings for Lurea, feelings implanted long ago by a monster’s evil spell.<BR><BR>Base satisfaction gloated but a moment when Culanir recovered and charged forward throwing his weight into the center of the Erinhue’s body, throwing them both to the bedchamber floor. They tore at each other grappling, but Culinar regained his feet before the bard and punched him in the side of the head.<BR><BR>A starburst of discolored light exploded upon Erinhue’s consciousness as the Gondorian’s balled fist struck him. The bard stumbled, nearly knocked down but he lunged to tackle Culinar, driving his shoulder into the other man’s midsection and forcing them both over the door sill and out of the room.

Rolling about in the hallway each man took every opportunity to smash his fists into the other inflicting whatever damage possible while struggling to rise. Erinhue managed to pull one knee up between them.With a defiant roar he used the strength built from a lifetime of travel to help push Culanir off of him and away.<BR><BR>For a moment both men stood, their palpable hatred slowly stretching time. Outdoors tendrils of the hovering dark cloud reached down like a bony hand poised to snatch the tavern up in its wicked clutches. In the main taproom Alfrin, dowager Duches of **** shrieked out in the grip of nightmare and wept like a terrified child. In an upper room a stricken Parm fought with his own powerful demons and inside the half elven scribe and all the others were facing darkness of their own.<BR><BR>Alfin’s moment breaking wail covered the soft sound of fist on flesh as the two men resumed their battle. Erinhue and Culanir each threw blows that were expertly blocked by their opponent. Each charge was met with its counter move and the two men wrestled with each other moving down the upper hall and towards the wooden staircase at its end.

Erinhue dodged to the right avoiding Culanir’s next blow and landed one of his own fist sinking into the soft spot just beneath the other man’s ribcage. Winded, Culanir doubled over and Erinhue stepped in for what had he had a weapon would have been a killing blow. Erinhue linked his fingers and raised his arms poised to crash down on Culanir when the Gondorian threw himself forward and shoved violently. <BR><BR>Erinhue stumbled backward toward the edge of the staircase’s upper landing. Pressing what he saw as an advantage, Culanir leapt after, crashing into the teetering Erinhue and knocking them both down the stairs to land with a tangled crash on the main taproom floor.<BR><BR>Again Culanir is first to gain his feet and raises his foot to kick the bard, but Erinhue catches at his belt, pulling forward, to flip Culanir onto a nearby table. The table gives way under his weight and crashes to the ground. As stunned and startled patrons scramble to get out of the way, the two men both gain their footing and square off once again, moving warily around each other with a violent sort of grace.

Hobbituk breathed deeply. This was hard work and poor Telta seemed to be suffering as much as he, if not at the pain then at the awkwardness of carrying an infirm Hobbit whilst at the same time taking care not to inflame his injuries. <BR><BR>They had got down the stairs anyway, and that was the hard part.<BR><i>Correction,</i> thought Hobbi to himself, </i>The hard part has not even begun yet.<BR>The common room of the Inn was a scene of chaos. Some were caught up in personal traumas that were a world away from his own problems and yet others looked merely confused at the days events, as if they could not comprehend what had happened or had not been told. The arrival down the stairs of the Hobbit, even with his tear stained cheeks, bandaged leg and disorientated expression did not attract too much attention. Telta helped him into a chair so he could rest before they would make their way outside,<BR>“Thankyou my dear,” he began slowly and in that moment his voice suddenly sounded like it came not from a youthful Hobbit in the prime of his life but from an elderly gaffer on his death bed, “Now I must ask something else of you….”<BR><BR>No matter how foolish this solo rescue mission was, if he was to have anything at all of a chance then there were certain things he would need. Clothes and food enough for a long journey was the main one but there were other items too. As Telta disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and office, Hobbi leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes tight. But no matter how tight he closed them he could not dispel the tiredness he felt. He opened his eyes again and looked down to see that he was still wearing his wedding suit, it was covered in mud, dust and blood but it was the same fine stitching. It was a fraction mollifying to think of the distress the tailor would find in such treatment of his masterpieces! <BR>A delicate hand was placed on his shoulder, his head instinctively jerked upwards in a panic but his fear was replaced with a weak smile of gratitude when he saw that it was Telta returned from the errand he had set. She had brought his travelling pack from where it hung on the kitchen door and in it was a good supply of provisions as well as his travelling gear too. He had been ready for their honeymoon trip to Dol Amroth, his planning for that seemed but a distant dream now. She had also brought him two other items he knew he would need, the first was the walking staff that he had relied upon after the last creature to try and rob him of Lurea had put him in his sick bed and brought the demons in his mind to life. He knew he was going to need that crutch much in the days and weeks ahead of him. The other item was his long knife. It was more often used for cutting meat and carving wood than for defense…<BR><BR><i>…It’s time you learnt to use it Hobbi, learnt to defend your Lurea properly…<BR>….you? fight? Ha, your younger brother could stand you on your head and he was ten years your younger!</i><BR><BR>Again Telta helped Hobbi to his feet and again he grimaced as the weight hit his leg. They made for the door now as quickly as they could, not worrying if anyone might mark their departure but hurrying so that they could not ask questions. The door was already open and as they went through it they saw that a good many people were still outside, wedding guests and well-wishers now milling about trying to find news and gossip of what had happened. <BR><BR>The stables were not far, but they had no need to go all the way there for Matilda had not returned there after her master’s wounding but had been anxiously waiting by the doorway as if trying to discover news of his condition herself. The pony was overjoyed to see him, she rushed up to them and nudged his head with hers. It hurt his already throbbing head to be knocked but he did not care, his wife was gone but his best friend was still with him and would help him search. <BR><BR>He gripped Matilda’s mane in his worn hands and pulled himself up with Telta pushing behind. He was sat in the saddle like a sack of potatoes, his arms had barely the strength to grip the reins and his legs dangled loosely on each side. He tucked his knife into his belt and hooked his pack over the end of his walking stick. He looked down at Telta to mutter his thanks but was suddenly shocked into silence by the dismay on her face, she had kept her promise, taken him to his horse and had not asked a single question but now he could see that she was in turmoil. Desperately he tried to think of some words that might console her but he could not. He said simply,<BR>“I will never forget this, what you have done for me…” his words were suddenly interrupted by a crashing from inside the common room, so the fight had spread into other areas…his eyes flickered to the doorway, “If you would do one more thing then you would see that the two in there do not kill each other. Death is not the answer. It is never the answer…Thankyou Teltasarwen..”<BR><BR>With that, Hobbi leant forward and Matilda’s ear. Without hesitation she jumped into a brisk walk up the road and away from the The Lucky Fortune Inn.<BR><BR>At the top of the rise Hobbituk took one last look back. A cloud hung over the building, a strange shape that put him in mind of something he could not quite place, like a long forgotten memory. As he looked he wondered if he were looking at it for the last time. His red eyes were now dry but a solitary tear fell from each of them and he hung his head, “Goodbye old haunt,” was all he could think of to say.<BR><BR>He rode eastward.

Nessamelda and Nienor-Niniel's deliberations were interrupted by the crashing sound of men falling down the stairs. This could not be ignored entirely. Ness rushed to the stairwell and looked over the bannisters. She could see Erinhue and the other rolling on the floor, trying it seemed to kill each other. Making her decision, she turned back to Parm's room and said firmly to Nin: <BR><BR>"That is not our business. There are enough down there to sort that mess out - and besides they are grown men and well matched for a fight. We are best staying here with Parm, and standing guard. Here we may do some good. There we will just be in the way. If things get too bad, I doubt that Agarak will stand aside and let his master be too badly hurt."<BR><BR>The two young women ran back to Parm's room, to watch and wait.

<i><b>There is always danger in dreams. Visions are no less perilous.<BR>Parm was between three worlds: the world of substance, the world<BR>of shadows and the world of the supernatural. It was not a good<BR>place to be. Even so, in this delicious void, freed from both torture<BR>and longing, Parm found himself awake in his mind. There was a floor<BR>of sorts, upon which he could walk, and a walls on either side, a<BR>kind of corridor, for it was roofless, seemingly infinite. Before<BR>him, Parm found a kind of clearing, an empty space and there,<BR>sitting serenely, reading a book, was his Aravel.<BR>His delight! His joy! </i></b><BR><BR>The crow had no illusions as to its welcome. Crows and crebain are<BR>roughly lumped together. In spite of this prejudice, Silvertongue<BR>flew up to the window of Parm's room and tap, tap, tapping and caw,<BR>caw, cawing, made itself well known. It knew full well it was needed<BR>inside. That was its missions, its singleminded purpose. It was not<BR>about to be thwarted by panes of glass or shutters!<BR><BR><b>Willum was beside himself with worry. He looked up into the<BR>faces of Parm's friends. They both seemed so kind, so gentle and yet<BR>profoundly brave and resolute in spirit. They did not seem to be<BR>souls sent off into hysterics by dark trickery or even...sorcery...<BR>he shuddered at the thought. He turned to Nienor_Niniel, asking:<BR><BR>"Master Parm will be all right, won't 'e? E's goin' ta pull through<BR>isn't 'e? Oh he looks like the peace of death...ooh 'nd s'cold, too!<BR>If it weren't for the breathin' you'd have guessed he was flat out<BR>dead. Oh, and listen to m'stomach! It's complaining like it t'ain't<BR>never been fed! What a bebotheration!"<BR><BR>Huge tears formed in Willum's eyes, which both sleeve and hands<BR>wiped away. They came freely, uninvited, but touched Nessa and <BR>Nienor deeply. How this little fellow loved Parm...almost like an<BR>older brother. Touching, truly touching.</b><BR><BR><i><b>Parm was delighted to see Aravel and strove against the <BR>winds that now rose to push him back to embrace her. Her hair was<BR>untouched by breeze or breath. She sat and sighled contentedly,<BR>gazing at Parm with surreal beauty, bathed in both light and<BR>loveliness. Parm's arms ached to hold her, to catch her up and kiss<BR>the cheeks and lips of the one woman who had such a large measure of<BR>his heart. Subtly the scene began to take on shapes: grass grew<BR>around Parm's feet. Shadowy walls became the trunks of mighty trees.<BR>A wind rustled leaves and swayed branches. Yet Parm was powerless to<BR>move even one step any nearer toward his beloved.<BR>Why? Why? Why?<BR>The words became sounds, like nails scratching against wood, ugly,<BR>harsh and cruel. Parm's mind had left the sheltered pool beside the<BR>raging river of ravaging and was about to be swept up into it.<BR></i></b>

Many, many leagues away, in a cozy room at Imladris, sat Aravel.<BR>Her children were gathered around her, practising words and phrases<BR>in Quenya and Sindarin. They were a delight. So quick, so responsive,<BR>so funny! Suddenly, as if a cloud dimmed sunlight, her face became<BR>still and her eyes turned away as if in great thought and perplexity.<BR>Sensing their mother's distress, the children rushed up to touch her,<BR>hold her and comfort her, but she dismissed them breezily and told<BR>them that they needed to work on their various crafts to surprise <BR>their father upon his return from the Great Wedding. Reluctantly,<BR>silently, the children retreated, leaving their mother to her<BR>own thoughts. Or so it seemed.<BR><BR>In reality, Aravel had received a vision of unbelievable horror and<BR>distress. She was being called. The Valar! Parm's guardians were<BR>speaking to her mind, telling her that she must not lose heart,<BR>that she must be braver than even the great elf-lords, for she<BR>was about to be taken in her mind, with a great Valinorian guardian,<BR>to the place that would be, for now, Parm's greatest battlefield.<BR>She was about to go to war. She would not shed blood, nor claim a<BR>life, but stand against an evil about which she had only guessed and<BR>gotten but slightly disturbing thoughts. Who was this guardian?<BR>The voice choose not to give a name. It was inconsequential.<BR>Aravel knew she was not being deceived by black trickery; for this<BR>guardian was as real as light is to darkness, as health is to<BR>disease.<BR>Aravel readied herself for the experience, for the great moment. She<BR>was not about to let her darling, be sacrificed on the altar of evil<BR>out the vengeful whims of some spawn of Morgoth. She had not rescued<BR>Parm from his own blackness merely to lose him to it again! No!<BR>Aravel's fists clenched tightly. Her eyes closed purposefully.<BR>The room darkened and all became still around her.<BR><BR>It was about to begin.

"No, I am not, I serve as a Ranger. But then you are not just a healer from Dale are you?" he finished shrewdly.<BR><BR>Bardhwyn hesitated and was able, thus, to hear the whispered thanks of the Easterling as he stood over his 'brother's' side. The stricken Eastron wasn't his natural born brother, this she now knew, though she couldn't explain how or why. <BR><BR>The 'meeting' with this Eastron was still with her, the healing strangely invigorating her. In her mind she still heard the roaring sand and wondered what she had said in the ancient tongue. 'If only Ani-la were here!', she silently moaned. Edain stood, waiting for some response while Bardhwyn registered raised voices from a room down the hall...<BR><BR>"A Ranger?!," she replied with a smile. She looked closely at the glistening brooch pinned onto the man's chest. "Of course…" Bardhwyn said, "Forgive me, I didn't recognize the Star…" She allowed her voice to trail off as she brushed yet another trickle of blood from her mouth, noticing the other Healer move over to the recuperating Eastron, his 'brother' having taken a seat by the Gondorian woman. Bardhwyn took in the Peredhel bandaging an Elf, his hands skillfully wrapping a bandage around the Elf's ribs. She looked back at the Ranger, Edain.<BR><BR>"My name is Bardhwyn and yes, I am more than a healer." She said with a smile. "I am a bridesmaid, as well. Bridesmaid to the woeful Bride, Eru save her." Bardhwyn added solemnly while tucking the locket pouch back into the bodice of her gown. The look of admiration the Healing woman threw in her direction concerned her. Were she to ask any questions, Bardhwyn knew she'd be pressed to answer honestly.<BR><BR>Edain watched as the Dalewoman artfully tried to conceal not only her locket but her character; there was more to this woman - of that, he was sure. A tall, silver haired Peredhel entered and called Bardhwyn aside, speaking hastily. They exchanged whispered words. The Half-Elf then left as suddenly as she arrived, leaving the Dalewoman somewhat sad. She returned to where he stood.<BR><BR>"Your lip, it is still bleeding." Edain said, pulling a small handkerchief from a pocket and handing it to Bardhwyn. She took it, with a small nod of thanks. "Alandriel can look at it when she's done." He added.<BR><BR>"Alandriel?" Bardhwyn asked. "Is that her name?" Edain nodded. Bardhwyn looked over just as the woman Alandriel was 'tracing' some figure on the Eastron's body. 'Odd', she thought to herself. Another woman then entered the room, silently - so quietly the others hadn't noticed her. She was yet another Easterling, tall, dark and her long black hair was adorned with brightly colored stones, carefully braided into the long strands. The Easterling woman stopped just at the foot of the bed and spoke in Easterling.<BR><BR>"And who is that, Edain?" Bardhwyn asked, pointing to the newcomer.<BR><BR>Edain looked over to the bed. "That is Alandriel." He replied. <BR><BR>"No, the other woman."<BR><BR>"Oh, the woman sitting on the floor? I don't know her name. She's.."<BR><BR>"No, the woman standing at the foot of the bed."<BR><BR>Edain shot a surprised glance at Bardhwyn. <BR><BR>There was no one there. <BR><BR>The Ranger then watched as the Dale woman walked slowly toward the foot of the bed, herself. <BR><BR>"But …there is no one there…, Bardhwyn…" He stammered, following her. She made no reply.<BR><BR>The Eastron woke suddenly, grasping Alandriel's arm with an iron grip. Bardhwyn stopped and stood at the foot of the bed, her arm outstretched toward the Easterling, Edain standing behind her, completely perplexed. The Easterling's eyes burned with fear and anger as he clasped the Healing woman's arm until he saw the Dale woman. <BR><BR>The Easterling's face then registered shock and betrayed a flood of emotion as the strange sounds of the Easterling tongue fell from his mouth. He shook his head side-to-side, jibbering in Eastron. It was clear to Edain there was a sort of 'conversation' happening between Bardhwyn and the Eastron, a <i>one-way</i> conversation, for the Dale woman remained eerily silent. The Easterling was argueing, debating… even pleading.<BR><BR>His eyes caught Alandriel's.<BR><BR>"What's happening?" He asked, his voice hushed.

Jiyadan's eyes widened as the shield-maiden spoke. Whatever had happened to this woman, it was plain she had seen things, things for which he had but one explanation. The man she had seen, the words she had heard, some sort of vision perhaps? He did not know for certain, but he was beginning to guess it. Afraid to rouse her, as she appeared to be lapsing back into the memory of her experience, he nevertheless needed answers. Ever so gently cupping her face in his hands, he drew her face up to meet his. "Rholarowyn," he called softly, "come back."<BR><BR>Several moments had passed, her mind slipping back to the place she had already been. But something stopped her, something inside her knew she needed to return to his voice. Slowly opening her eyes, Rho was surprised to see Jiyadan’s face so close to hers and it startled her. She pulled away slightly, and looked down for a moment. <BR><BR>Jiyadan sat frozen, his fingers still barely resting on her jaw. She has pulled back, but not completely away. <BR>He watched her eyes, then slowly let his hands sink, his gaze fixed firmly on her. "Rho," he whispered. "You had a vision?" It was both a question and a statement. He needed her to confirm his suspicion.<BR><BR>“A vision?” She thought for a moment. Then looking back at him she begin began to remember another vision she had had four months before. It had been different but a vision none the less. With this confirming thought Rho nodded her head slightly. “Yes Jiyadan, that’s what I had...a vision.” <BR><BR>Jiyadan also nodded. He looked back at Moujhadin. The Finara-loy. "Why," he wondered. Perhaps Moujhadin had not intended her to experience a vision, though he had never heard of anything like this. He returned his steady gaze to Rho, again drawing her eyes up to meet his. "Please, what do you remember?"<BR><BR>Rho recounted everything she could remember about the first part of her vision Culanir, Moujhadin, and her never ending battle with the Easterling who would only swirl away and would not die. Then she moved on to the second part, where she had met her guide in the sands, how he had lead her out through the mist to the green meadow and then guided towards the fire where the three men were waiting for her. <BR><BR>Jiyadan did not know what to make of her strange tale. He sat quietly, brooding over everything she had said, everything she had not said. Then the memory of her speaking the Eastron returned and he gently pressed her. "This guide you spoke of, is <i>he</i> the one that gave you the words? The 'gift' you called it. Is he the one?"<BR><BR>“Yes.” She answered. “He is the one, but he didn’t speak them to me, he gave them to me in my thoughts as I was walking away from him.” She stopped and then looked at him intently as if she wanted to ask him something. Finally she did. “These words that he gave to me, are they special? Do they have special meaning?"<BR><BR>Jiyadan did not answer for a moment. He returned her steady gaze, letting the Eastron words flow through his mind. He had thought the words were for him. "I was wrong," he thought to himself. "They were never for me." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes, again feeling weariness take him. <BR><BR>"The words, they are like a riddle." He looked up at Rho. "In your language it would say, 'Embrace the past before you; reject the future behind you; see what is not there, and feel what will always be.' I do not know if these words will carry any special meaning for you." His voice trailed off slightly, and he looked back at Moujhadin.<BR><BR>Jiyadan noticed the second healer had moved to the foot of the bed, and Moujhadin suddenly became.. what? Angry? Frantic? No. Fear!

<i>Telta watched as Hobbituk slung his pack over his walking stick. She had done as he asked and did not question him. Now he was about to leave and she could only stand there and watch.<BR><BR>"I will never forget this, what you have done for me…" his words did not ease the dismay she felt. She should be going with him to help and would have done just that if he had not asked her to do one last thing for him.<BR><BR>"If you would do one more thing then would you see that the two in there do not kill each other. Death is not the answer. It is never the answer…Thank you Teltasarewen."<BR><BR>Hobbituk was leaving and his last words were to help Erinhue. And yet he was the one in need of help. Telta’s determination grew and as he rode away she headed back to the inn where she would try somehow to stop the fight.</i> <BR><BR>"I will do this one thing you asked of me Hobbituk but I will not let you go alone." <i>Telta said quietly to herself her heart set on searching for Lurea. There were others too that would help she was not the only friend here.<BR><BR>As her steps drew closer to the door she could hear the fighting men inside. Hobbituk had not explained why they were fighting he just wanted to make sure that they did not do irreparable harm to each other. And the elf did not understand what it was that lie between these two that their fight would be so fierce. Telta moved inside to find the people in the room had backed away from the men leaving them ample room to what? beat each other to death. The fighting was fierce and Telta was not sure how she could stop it or why someone else had not already. Then she remembered the look on Erinhue’s face upstairs. It was enough to deter anyone but Hobbituk had asked her to try and she could not let him down. Time was slipping by and each moment that she wasted was one that would carry the hobbit farther away. Her meager things rested just above them and she would need them if she were to aid Hobbituk.<BR><BR>About to intervene she took a step forward then came a familiar warm touch upon her shoulder...Beliran. He stood behind her and the gentle pressure he applied held her back. She did not turn to look at him but continued to watch as the two men circled each other both breathing hard and showing signs of their battle. He would stop them she was sure but Beliran did not move. Telta’s brow furrowed into one of confusion. Why didn’t he try to stop it? Her relief at his arrival was turning into anger something she did not think was possible when it came to the Swan Knight. How could he just stand there and watch?</i><BR><BR>"Will you not stop this before one of them is killed?"<BR><BR>*******<BR>Telta-Master Bard<BR>Official Vana Honourary Adoptee;D<BR>E.O.<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-wink.gif"border=0><BR>AKA: Laraelia<BR><BR>

“I doubt the Gondorian could do much harm to Erinhue. There is more to my little brother than what meets the eye. If he were to call the sword, then I would intervene but I think that he would have done that already if he intended to at all.”<BR><BR>Unskilled as he was with women, Beliran did pick up on the strained tone in Telta’s voice. “You don’t understand. Today’s events have just brought to the surface an animosity that has lain between those two for quite some time now. It isn’t good to have such things go unresolved.<BR><BR>Some years ago our prince sent Erinhue on a mission to investigate a strange series of murders in Dol Amroth. That was when he first met Culanir,” he paused here as if reluctant to speak the name before adding softly, “and Turelie. The whole thing was a rather awful experience, some parts of it Erinhue will not speak of to this day.<BR><BR>You should have seen him when he finally came back. He was so thin and half out of his mind. I don’t know what happened but he seemed to blame this Culanir for it, and then there was Lurea.<BR><BR>There was something between the three of them some enchantment but that was all Erinhue would say. I thought that when he met Aerin that would be the end of it and it was until today.”<BR><BR>Beliran stopped not knowing how to explain more about something he understood on instinct. Telta was no warrior not in the sense that he and his brother were and perhaps it took a warrior to see this fight should run to its own conclusion.<BR><BR>There was something else that Telta might not understand and he was having trouble finding the words to tell her. Deciding that there was no fancy way to put it Beliran put it to her in his straightforward manner.<BR><BR>“Telta, dearest, this disaster of a wedding has run its course and with it when my time here. I saw you help the groom to slip away and I can only surmise that he has gone west in search of his beloved. My path lies to the East and Belfalas. My troop and I must return to Dol Amroth. Will you come with me?”<BR>

<i>Slayer said nothing. He sat there, looking into the tears welling up in his companions eyes, trying to make sense of it all. through the hard wired chanels in his brain, it all filtered slowly into his thoughts. Okay. Now, to figure out what to do. He had only a little while ago met this maiden. They both seemed to carry burdens they cannot escape. They.. erm... Slayer's mind ground to a halt. Only three enduring fatcs came out of what seemed like eons of thinking. once, he was tired. Two, he seemed to have forged a bond with his companion, but he couldnt fathom it beyond that. <BR><BR>Three, he now needed a drink. Clearing his throat, he said simply: </i><BR>Excuse me. <BR><i>Getting up, Slayer slowly walked to the door of the room, feeling the eyes of Lindonbayne burning in his back. Not turning, Slayer thought to at least say something. </i><BR><BR>Some things... You cannot escape. <i><BR>Walking out, he could hear a muffled cry of rage, irritation, confusion, and worry all rolled into one starnge noise. Shortly followed by a punch on the wall. <BR><BR>Going downstairs and sitting on the bar again, Slayer felt it all begin to down him. He had manged to Crawl away from one self-made disaster into another. Great. Had he learnt nothing.... Ugh. Slayer slumped on the bar, and passed out into a black empty nightmare. </i>

<i>Heather woke, finally, as the light of morning was trying to climb over the mountains and into her room but gathering clouds were making that difficult.<BR>The healer bathed quickly, then dressed; more plain today in a country dress and chimise. She tugged on her boots, long brown curls still hanging lank and wet down her back.<BR>Not bothering with anything else, save her weapons, she hurried down the hall to Parm's room and knocked lightly on the door.</i>

<i>Despite the noise of fight and anger rising from downstairs, Nessamelda and Nienor-Niniel had decided to stay at Parm’s side. He was somewhere between sleep and awakening, muttering words in different languages. Only one could she hear that stroke her, coming again and again:</i> Avarel, Avarel. <BR><i>Willum was almost crying at Parm’s side. The affection of the hobbit boy for the Bard made Nienor-Niniel smile. She knew that when she was younger such a powerful, yet friendly figure would have greatly impressed her too. How many times had the little hobbit seen that many elves and so impressive magic action? <BR>N-N smiled at the little boy – being a hobbit he was so small the he made her think of her own child, left behind her, buried in the depth of her memories, where she had never left anybody enter.</i> <BR>You have chosen your mentor very well. Be in peace, dear Willum. I do not think that Parm is out of danger, but I swear you, we will not leave him alone. <i>She looked over to Nessamelda and the confirmation in her glance was immediate <BR>All of a sudden, Nin remembered the little sweet a helping hand had given to her earlier on this cursed day, when her nerves had broken. She still carried that in one of her bags. Pulling it out, she handed it over to the sobbing lass.</i> Eat this, my friend. It is not much, but was made as a gift of friendship and shall be a little gift of friendship from me to you. As soon as he is better, I will tell the Lord Parm how steady you stood at his side and how, without you, we could not have rescued him. <BR><i>Willum’s face illuminated at those few words. He wiped off his tears and stretched out his dirty hand to reach the little sweet. <BR>For a very little moment of grace, Nessamelda, Nienor-Niniel and Willum found themselves smiling, bound together by the worry for their common friend, the exceptional bard, Parm, servant of Eru. <BR>But it did not last. The howls from outside and the aching of Parm, as if he were hurt and fighting painfully called them back to reality.</i>

Leoba put out an arm to hold Aliana back. That thought which had been bothering her was binding itself in ever-closer knots about her brain and a frown marred her forehead. <BR><BR>“Wait a minute, please.” Leoba said to the other woman. She felt her skin crawl cold in response to the sounds from upstairs and she desperately wanted it to not be what she thought it was. All she could hear were those sounds, each thud against the floorboards in time with the resonance of her heartbeat in her ears. ‘Please no sweet Illuvatar, let him have more honour than that. Not Hobbi.’ The words were pounding in between the heartbeats. She had to know what was happening and it was imperative that no-one else, none of these friends downstairs must know. If she could shield him, she would.<BR><BR>“And no you haven’t missed out on something. On anything that anyone should want to know.” She replied to Aliana but her voice sounded even to herself as though it came from far away and wasn’t quite real, the sentences being torn from her lips and catching in the air even as she uttered them. And they were drowned out by an almighty yell. Both women looked up to see two figures begin tumbling towards them. Leoba was rooted to the spot, unsure of what she was seeing, unable to believe that her eyes were telling her the truth. <BR><BR>Then all she knew was the sharp yank to her wrist as Aliana tugged her urgently aside out of the way of the madmen launching towards them.<BR><BR>Aliana was still holding on to her, although Leoba couldn’t feel her grip anymore. Every sensory capability was drained of its resources, except her sight; her eyes round as saucers taking the bitter scene into her mind, trying desperately to process the information. ‘Not Hobbi, but Hue,’ she was telling herself, trying to drum the knowledge into her thick skull ever as she was endeavouring to be free of Aliana’s grip.<BR><BR>The tension had been mounting all day. And now this. She was being wrenched in half. On the one hand her brother, whom she loved dearly even beyond the duty of blood, for she owed so very much to him. On the other hand her friend, her employer, the man she looked up to just as she had ever looked up to Culanir as a small girl. How had it come to this? How had they descended to nothing better than animals tearing at each other.<BR><BR>“Oh turn me loose will you woman!” Leoba turned and snapped uncharacteristically at her fellow Bard, her eyes glittering ominously.<BR>

<i>Still slightly dazed from the pain of his injuries, Anorast was content to lie where he'd been placed, gradually letting his body recover from it's injuries. It had finally dawned on him that he could not go after Earelen in his current condition. He did not even know how long he'd been asleep. She could easily have left. And perhaps, he did not need to go after her. What little his mind remembered after her cleansing seemed to suggest that she was finished with her past, and was prepared to move on.<BR><BR>His mind at rest, Anorast looked around. Of the several people in the room, he recognized none. The room itself was unkept, and it appeared that some conflict had occured in it recently.</i><BR><BR>"Please, what is going on here? What has happened," <i>Anorast asked the closest person.</i> "Is there any way I can help?"

<BR><i> Scribbles watched with a strange sinking feeling as Nin , Nessa and Lady Heather brought a semi-conscious Parm into the Inn and went straight upstairs, trailed by the hobbit lad Willum.<BR><BR>She shrugged at Orion’s question regarding the human scribe.</i> “I saw her at the last Festival, you know, the Birthday Party, but we have not really been introduced. Not that I would care a whit for introductions to another Numenorean anyway,”<i> she finished quietly. She looked up at the sudden loud noise from the upper floor and met Orion’s startled gaze, her brow furrowed. As she opened her mouth to reply to his next question, another series of loud thumps sounded, along with the distinct sound of male voices raised in extreme anger. They both turned to watch with no small surprise as two men tumbled down the stairs and into the main taproom, one of the combatants their own Guild Master!! <BR><BR>Scribbles suddenly turned away from the scene and threw back what was left of her drink. It was simply another evil development on what was turning out to be an evil day. There was a growing sense of dread in her mind and a sudden, aching need to get away. Turning to Orion, she jerked her chin in the direction of the two men, still reeling across the room, locked in combat.</i><BR><BR>“No matter what your heart tells you, I advise you not to interfere. The tangled affairs of men are not ours, do not be fooled into thinking that you can help them.” <i> She tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the heavy disgust from her voice. As she stepped past Orion and headed for the now clear stairway, she nodded her head politely. </i> “It was a pleasure to see you again Master Orion, may the Valar be kind to you. Namarië.”<BR><BR> <i> As she passed the Lady Leoba and Aliana, she felt the tension between them, and realized that Leoba was upset. She paused and addressed them both. </i><BR><BR>“Turn her loose Aliana. But Lady Leoba, do have a care. Men are heedless of anything or anyone when their pride or anger has been pricked, and in this case, I suspect both. I must take my leave now, please give my best to SmaugsBane. Aliana, my thanks for all your help on this day. If the gods be willing, we shall cross paths again.”<BR><BR><i> She left the two and vaulted up the stairs two at a time, then went directly to the little room at the end of the hall. She packed rapidly, rolling the ruined elven cape and battle leathers up tightly and stowing them in her pack. She did not bother to change, her festival finery was ruined anyway, it would serve for traveling well enough now. Shouldering her pack, she returned down the hall, looking into any open room until she spotted Bardhwyn. She entered the room quickly, quietly and drawing the Archer aside, she bent and whispered urgently in the woman’s ear. </i><BR><BR>“Forgive me, my friend, but I must leave this place and now. Too much weighs heavily upon me and I must go . . . home.”<BR><BR>“Home?” <i> Bardhwyn echoed as she eyed the Scribe.</i> “And where is that? I thought you said that this Inn was the closest thing to a home you have known for centuries?”<BR><BR><i> Scribbles sighed. </i> “It is. But in this case, the home I speak of is Rhudaur.”<BR><BR>“Rhudaur!” <i> Bardhwyn breathed. </i> “Why?”<BR><BR><i> Scribbles bit her lip, trying to order her increasingly chaotic thoughts. </i> “Because I have a place there, a hidden sanctuary where I will find what I need.”<BR><BR>“And what is that, sleep?” <i> Bardhwyn shot back quietly. </i><BR><BR>“Solitude, Archer, solitude. Do not stay in this Inn a moment longer than you must, something wicked is brewing anew and no, I cannot explain it. Watch thy back, fare thee well, we shall meet again.”<BR><BR><i> She did not wait for an answer, and a Ranger of Gondor approached which made it easy for her to make good her escape. She turned on her heel, her long legs taking her out the door and down the hall. She paused briefly at one particular door, and her heart contracted painfully. Parm. The shadow lay heavily on him, but she tore herself away and headed for the rear stairway quickly. She could not help him this time, her instincts fairly screamed the miserable fact to her. She jogged across the courtyard, stopping only long enough to yank one of the Shadow Elf's blades from the water barrel, and retrieve the other from the dust where it had flown off her sword's parry. As she straightened and headed for the stables, she forced herself to block out everything that had happened both there and in the courtyard. Once in the stables, she saddled her tall warhorse quickly, efficiently, strapping her pack behind her saddle then leading him out into the gathering dark.<BR><BR>She swung up into the saddle and sat silently for a few moments, looking down the wide, grassy way to where the meadow was still lit up, and the remnants of the Wedding guests and Festival attendees yet moved about. She wondered where Matrim had gotten to, then abruptly pushed the thought out and slammed that mental door firmly shut.<BR><BR>She turned her mount’s head to the road and spurred him to the gallop.<BR><BR><BR>

<i>"I doubt the Gondorian could do much harm to Erinhue. There is more to my little brother than what meets the eye." Telta listened to every word letting what he said sink in. <BR>"If he were to call the sword, then I would intervene but I think that he would have done that already if he intended to at all." This last part she did not understand. If he were to call the sword...what sword? What did he mean? But Beliran continued speaking telling her of things past.<BR><BR>She listened and understood most of what he said and now Erinhue’s adversary had a name, Culanir. Whatever had happened then was driving the two of them now and as much as she hated to admit it perhaps he was right. Stopping them would not solve anything. But she had promised Hobbituk that she would try. Her mind raced trying to find a solution and as it did she caught his next words that made her heart sink.<BR><BR>"Telta, dearest, this disaster of a wedding has run its course and with it when my time here. He had seen her help Hobbituk and that did not surprise her.<BR><BR>"My path lies to the East and Belfalas. My troop and I must return to Dol Amroth." Her heart beat faster...he was leaving. She knew this time would come and yet she was not prepared for it. "Will you come with me?" Telta could not breath. He was asking her to go with him. Oh how she loved the Captain of the Swan Knights. <BR><BR>Telta closed her eyes to shut out the scene in front of her that was now blurring. It would be so easy to leave this sad place and be with him. She turned slowly till she faced him and opened her sky blue eyes now awash with unspilled tears.</i><BR><BR>"Beliran I love you." <i>she spoke quietly unsure that he could even hear her.</i> "You make my heart skip when I see you and you are the joy in my life. Up until we met I did not think that I could feel such joy, such happiness. I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you and that shall never change. There is nothing I would like more than to go with you....but I cannot. Just as your path takes you home mine is wherever it takes me to aid in the search for Lurea. I will help Hobbituk find his bride and my friend."<BR><BR><i>Telta looked up into the sea grey eyes she loved so much losing herself in their depths for a moment. She did not know when the tears started to slip down her face. Her heart was breaking.</i> <BR><BR>"Please forgive me Beliran."<BR><BR><BR>*******<BR>Telta-Master Bard<BR>Official Vana Honourary Adoptee<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR>E.O.<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-wink.gif"border=0><BR>AKA: Laraelia

<BR><i> The tall warhorse thundered across the Last Bridge and Scribbles urged him to still greater speed, she wanted to catch Hobbituk. The unfortunate groom, him most of all she wanted to take proper leave of.<BR><BR>It did not take long before she spotted the pony and overtook the Hobbit within a few minutes more. She was surprised however, when suddenly Hobbituk wheeled Matilda around sharply and pulled out a long knife, brandishing it with a ferocity she had never seen in him. She pulled her mount in quickly. </i><BR><BR>“Master Hobbituk!” <i> she called out. </i> “Do not be alarmed, ‘tis merely Scribbles.”<BR><BR>“Come to try and stop me, no doubt!” <i> he snapped back. Scribbles folded her hands over her saddlehorn and regarded him solemnly.</i><BR><BR>“No, I have not come to stop you, but to offer you a last bit of assistance.”<BR><BR><i> Hobbi’s expression softened for a moment, then grew suspicious. </i> “What sort of assistance?” <i> he asked warily.<BR><BR>Scribbles walked her warhorse slowly over to his pony and dismounted, now able to look level at the still mounted Hobbit.</i><BR><BR>“The only sort I can offer you right now,” <i> she replied softly. </i> “I must beg your forgiveness, for I cannot ride with you, nor can I help you on this road at this time, however,” <i> she paused, then reached slowly and carefully into her saddlebag,</i> “I can offer a few tokens to ease your hurts and aid your quest.” <i> Hobbituk watched her movements keenly, but did not make any remark or further aggressive moves. She pulled a few items from the saddlebag, then turned and held the first one out.</i><BR><BR>“A packet of healing herbs, Master Hobbit. Steep a pinch in water, either cool or warm, each evening and morning and bathe that wound on your leg. It will ensure swift and proper healing, and prevent the wound from festering.”<BR><BR><i> Hobbi sheathed his long knife carefully, then accepted the packet with a shadow of a smile. She held out the next item.</i><BR><BR>“I know you ride into danger, Master Hobbit, and since I am unable to offer my sword, I would have you go well armed. This is a Rhudaurian stealth knife, a much smaller cousin to my stiletto. It is very small so it can be hidden easily, but it is also deadly sharp. It will even cut through bone, and can easily take a man’s hand off at the wrist. It is perfectly balanced for throwing too, and may stand you in good stead some day.”<BR><BR><i> Hobbituk took the little sheathed weapon and tucked it into his vest. She gave him no time to reply but held up the last item.<BR><BR>On the flat of her palm lay a small, coin-sized gemstone. It had the appearance of a milky, poor quality opal. </i><BR><BR>“This is a charmed stone, Master Hobbituk, a sliver of moonlight captured and held cold within. Rub it gently and as it warms, it will shed a gentle light, enough to light whatever dark paths you may have to tread. As long as I live and draw breath, it will continue to function faithfully.”<BR><BR><i> She handed him the stone, then turned and quickly re-mounted her horse.</i><BR><BR>“Fare thee well, Master Hobbit. If perchance I can aid you farther down your road, I will. May the Valar watch both your back and your way forward.”<BR><BR><i> With that, she wheeled her horse and spurred back down the road. Hobbituk hefted the stone thoughtfully, then rubbed it gently with his thumb. The stone grew warm and began to emit a soft, pearly glow that lit up his features. He sighed, then looked off into the gathering dark where the Scribe's horse had disappeared.</i><BR><BR>"Thank you my friend, thank you," <i> he whispered, then pocketed the stone. Turning Matilda around once more, he resumed his journey.<BR><BR><BR>Just before the final curve that led to the Last Bridge, Scribbles reined in, then carefully urged her mount off the road onto a narrow, beaten track that led into the forest.<BR><BR>When the track cleared the last of the thick trees, it dispersed onto a wide, rolling grassy plain, dotted with scrub and the occasional stunted tree. Once more, she reined in and gazed to the far, star scattered horizon, where the dark bulk of the western range of the Misty Mountains marched northward on her right. For long minutes, she sat thus, deep in thought. One hand drifted up to touch the Master Bard’s brooch that was yet pinned to the collar of her ruined blouse. Suddenly, with a filthy oath and a savage yank, she tore it from its place and without looking at it, dropped it into the pouch at her belt. Delkarnoth had been right, who was she fooling? Bard of Rhudaur?? At title of born of overweening pride, nothing more. The curse upon her had long ensured that there was no place for her among elves. And what business could she possibly have with a mortal man? All she would bring either of them was trouble and bloodshed. She pushed the sudden pain in her chest aside with another muffled curse. It was better this way.<BR><BR>Finally, she leaned over the neck of the tall warhorse and whispered softly in his ear.</i><BR><BR>"Linta si, malonya!" **<BR><BR><i> Without a backward glance, she urged her mount once more to the gallop. She headed north, towards Rhudaur, towards forgetfulness. To sanctuary, sleep and a return to solitude.<BR><BR><BR>((OOC: ** (Qn) Run swiftly my friend!))<BR><BR><BR>

Elana gazed after Nienor-Niniel as she hurried away. She hoped she’d been able to help the other woman, at least a little. Her depression seemed to have passed, and she showed new energy and determination.<BR><BR>Now Elana felt depression settle on her own spirit. Truly the day seemed to be cursed. Had anyone attending the wedding managed to escape conflict and disaster?<BR><BR>Suddenly feeling the need for fresh air, she stepped outside the tent. Out here the anxious and and shrill voices were muffled. The sun had all but set, leaving only a soft orange glow on the western horizon. The first stars were beginning to come out overhead. Elana gazed up at them, finding solace in the familiarity of the unchanging patterns.<BR><BR>Finally the chill of the night sent her back into the tent. She looked around for Deore, and spotted her talking to one of the Swan Knights. Deore waved the bit of fabric at him, and he examined it. Then handing it back to her, he began to escort her through the crowd. Elana hurried after them, anxious to see where he was taking her.<BR><BR>Elana caught up to them just as they reached a cluster of Swan Knights. “Farn!” on of the knights greeted Deore’s escort. “Find anything?”<BR><BR>“Perhaps,” Farn replied evasively. “Where is Commander Beliran? There’s something he should see.”<BR><BR>“He headed toward the inn,” the other knight told him, with a jerk of his head in that direction. His voice lowered and he leaned closer to Farn. “Something’s up with his brother.”<BR><BR>Farn frowned, then strode purposefully toward the inn, Deore and Elana trailing behind. When they reached the inn door, they heard a commotion inside. “Wait a moment,” Farn told them. “I’ll be right back.” He vanished inside the inn.<BR><BR>Elana and Deore waited, while the sounds from inside grew louder and more violent. Finally Deore could stand the suspense no longer and pushed the door open. Elana, equally curious, but nervous, followed.<BR><BR>A ring of people surrounded a clear space in the middle of the room, where Elana could catch glimpses of two struggling bodies. A fight raged with vicious intensity. Deore, frustrated at the taller people blocking her view, dragged a chair over and climbed up on it. Elana was about to scold her, and insist they leave the inn, when between the spectators in front of her she caught a glimse of one combatant’s face. Erinhue? She could scarcely recognize him, rage so distorted his normally cheerful face. What could he be fighting about? She shoved a chair next to Deore’s and jumped up to join her. Together they watched to see what would happen next.<BR><BR><BR>

Amidst splinters and shards of what had once been a solid-seeming bar table the two men continued their interminable circling motion. And the stunned audience looked on in uncomprehending fascination as they traced their steps.<BR><BR>He wouldn’t and couldn’t give in. Culanir was adamant about that. The Gondorian had seen something reflected deep in his adversary’s eyes; an unpleasant stirring of pure single-minded detestation. It was so at odds with the front that Bard presented to the all-smiling world, such a far cry from the ray of sunshine which left countless pub patrons the length and breadth of the land fawning all over him. <BR><BR>The desire to expel that image from his eyes, to obliterate her image from his eyes, to banish yet another source of pain, it was all-consuming. It had become his sole guiding light at the expense of anything else. <BR><BR>Each flying fist was ducked until one finally hit home, driving hard into Erinhue’s jaw. The Bard’s retaliation was swift; a deft foot catching Culanir and sweeping him down into the dirt once again, where the malt of spilt beer mingled with the tang of blood spilt with equal futility. A second boot struck home to his stomach and he had to fight the urge to vomit, instead focusing on dragging himself to his knees and thence to his feet. <BR><BR>He could only see Erinhue taunting him with every look, every mincing movement. Culanir lunged, desperate to finish it, to wipe that face and the slate clean. But he was exhausted and slow and the Bard beat him to it, coming in harder and faster and violently slamming the Gondorian’s arm out of the way. Culanir winced in sudden agony as his arm snapped back at a most unnatural angle. Clutching the elbow he backed off, scattering the wedding guests further still in his retreat. But he refused to cry out, not in pain, not in weakness, preferring instead to bite hard and prick ruby-red his already battle-stained lips. <BR><BR>And in once more plunged his adversary, seeing his opportunity to grasp at last the victory with both hands. <BR><BR>But the wind was changeable and it turned against Erinhue again as Culanir threw his last vestiges of strength into the assault, reaching in with his good arm to grasp the Bard by the scruff of the neck and pulling him closer, so close that Culanir could feel the man’s breath hot against his face. The Gondorian was clenching his fist still tighter, pulling harder at Erinhue’s collar, his knuckles crunching into his throat, squeezing his breath out of him. <BR><BR>But the punches were coming thick and fast against him and he could barely breathe. He was losing his grip. Culanir felt his vision start to swim. He was being drained and the mists were swimming in to fill the void. Nothing but fog now inflaming his mind; a crimson tide rushing at breakneck pace. <BR><BR>Vengeance should be sweeter than this.<BR><BR>And through the haze, those sea-grey eyes were haunting him. And he knew that they would ever dog his days. And he knew he couldn’t hold much longer. <BR><BR>He let Erinhue go. Heard him gasp. He felt Erinhue deliver the final blow to his temple and then, desperate, Culanir brought his knee home hard into his rival’s groin.<BR><BR><BR>

<i>Aerin had followed the "progress" of the fight with a kind of sick half-panic. She stumbled down the stairs after them, almost blinded by suppressed tears, and clung to the wall.<BR><BR>The elf could feel every blow delivered to her husband as if they had been directed against her own body. She cried out as Culanir knead Erinhue in the groin, her voice lost in the tumult.</i><BR><BR>"Agarak! Agarak, do something! Please!"

<i>She could hear Parm's babling through the door, but she guessed that the fight downstairs was too loud for those inside to hear her knock, so she rapped again, harder and muttered something unbecoming under her breath about all the fights at a wedding.</i>

<i>Matrim Looked back over his shoulder again. He could stilmake out the inn through the forest but he turned his head and started walking again.<BR><BR>He slowly walked with his head down when a prickle of something caused him to stop dead in his trcks. He reached down and found the trusty scimitars. A noise behind him startled him. The blades in hand he turned to face his foe.</i><BR><BR>"Dos xun naut treat biu zhuanth abbil al." <i>Vinyacam uttered in drow. </i> <b><i>(You do not treat an old friend well.)</i></b><BR><BR>"Abbilen xun naut alu shineria phor rathrea tosdki abbilen." <i>Matrim uttered. </i>"What is it that you want from me?" <b> <i>(Friends do not go creeping up behind other friends)</i> </b><BR><BR>"Are you going to let that lovely woman walk out of your? Also, I thought you a man of your word but despite your promise to your so called friends, you slink away like a snake in the dark." <i>The drow ranger said, his face a display of sad emotions.</i><BR><BR>"What I do with me life is now of your concern drow." <i>Matrim said, the bloodlust slowly coming back to him.</i><BR><BR>"Do as you will Commander Calhoun, but the Scribe is a lovely creature I will not pass on." <i>Vinyacam said, hoping to draw Matrim's attention.<BR><BR>Mat turned, the hilt in his hand leading the way, and landed a bone jarring punch into the drow's jaw. He then stood over the bleeding drow, glaring at him.</i><BR><BR>"Do as you will, she has not a care for me anymore."<BR><BR><i>Matrim turned and start to walk away, uttering a few last words as he faded from sight.</i><BR><BR>"Xun naut grieve whol ussta noamuth. Usstan uil jal'yur elghinyrr." <b> <i> (Do not grieve for my loss. I am already dead.)

As Aravel began to step into the light that was as real in her mind as the sun on<BR>her placid face, a strange, but powerful music began to build around her. <BR>"We go not to arm your beloved with sword or spear, no enchanted arrows for a<BR>powerful bow. None of these. We shall come wrapped as one power, yet many. We<BR>bring the same power that fashion worlds from nothing, that set bars on the seas,<BR>and lifted clouds from their flooding on the earth. We bring the power of music.<BR>It will be the weapon Parm will wield, for we have trained his heart to hear it and<BR>his lips to sing it and his heart to believe it. He will need friends to stand with him<BR>to give as much shape as possible to the melody that he will aim at the soul of the<BR>Dark One's progeny. Parm will need us to draw on the power that is in him. He<BR>has felt it, but we have limited it within him. Now is the time for him to discover<BR>something of his heritage. We not let him see so much as to alarm him,<BR>for his story is both tragic and awesome. He may have the right to be among the<BR>great, but his heart will not ever allow him to strive for such mastery or position.<BR>Come Aravel. The battle is about to begin." <BR><BR>

<i>The door remained closed, as if it could protect those inside from the voices rising from the corridor and the common room. The clashing of swords mingled was so close as if the two knights could storm in every moment, then moved further again, and N-N heard Aerin’s voice screaming without understanding the exact words. <BR><BR>She had to hold herself back not to rush out and at least know what was going on. But not only fear for Parm held her back, she also knew that she did not want to see Erinhue battling, fighting, killing or getting killed. She wanted to keep the image that she had always had of her guild-master, a kind and gentle man, caring for the others more than for himself. <BR><BR>Willum had put his hands on his ears, the little fellow was not used to fencing or any other way of acting in war or attack. He looked scared, his eyes wide open, biting on his lips. He had turned white, then red, and now, that finally they heard less noise, was still pale. Under his brown, trustful eyes were deep rings. Nienor-Niniel wondered how she had not seen it earlier. The lass needed to go home and to get rest.</i> <BR><BR>Willum, <i>she said softly,</i> I think you should go home and seek for some sleep. <BR><BR>But, but, <i>stuttered the hobbit,</i> I don wanna let Mas’er Parm, he’s been so kind wit’me. <BR><BR>You know if you want to help Parm, when he wakes up, you should be fit when he wakes up. If he sees you, tired like this, he will only be worried for you. You must know, how much he cares for you. <BR><BR><i>The kid seemed only to happy for this pretext – if it was for Parm’s sake, then he would go home and sleep.</i> <BR>I’ll be back, t’morrow at the first hour, <i>he mumbled. <BR><BR>At the doorstep, he met the Lady Heather. N-N asked the kind elven lady to bring the hobbit down and guide him through the common room –she feared that there would still be a lot of people, some of them maybe drunk, and also some heated minds- whatever had upset Erinhue so much must also have affected other guests. Nevertheless, she did not want to go herself, she was to tensed about the danger surrounding Parm, almost touchable, and too afraid whom and what she should meet among the guests. <BR><BR>When she closed the door again behind them, she looked at Nessamelda. But the tall woman had turned her back on Nienor-Niniel, looking out of the window.</i> <BR><BR>Do you see that crow, Nin? <i>she asked</i> Have you ever seen a bird acting alike ? <BR><BR><i>N-N had not at all paid attention to the bird, but the way it was kicking outside was indeed weird.</i> <BR><BR>Parm took it for a good omen. Maybe we should let it in, <i>suggested Nessa. N-N did not answer immediatly, she was fascinated by this little creature now.</i> <BR><BR>Do you see it <i>she whispered to Nessamelda,</i> do you see her eyes. They are so human. <BR><BR>Avarel, <i>moaned Parm once more and in this very moment, the bird hit the window pane, as if it wanted to answer.</i>

<i>”Agarak! Agarak, Please help!”</i><BR><BR>The distraught words echoed in the half aware consciousness of the spirit that inhabited the dragonharp. The voice was fair sounding as summer rain falling on the petals of newly opened blossoms. It was also familiar. Agarak identified it as belonging to one of the Firstborn, the one called Aerin, bondmate to the bard.<BR><BR>The dragonharp was well aware of the fight raging on between its bard and the Gondorian knight. It was aware of the resurgence of the dormant trace of evil that had touched them both so long ago. It was also aware of the vague but sinister shadows gathering about the Inn.<BR><BR>Agarak took notice of something in the bard that had not been there before, something it had been biding time awaiting. The runesword’s blood lusting spirit was fully awake and screaming to slake its deadly thirst. The bard was enraged but he refused to pay heed to the savage summons or call the sword by name.<BR><BR>This time he did not hide or disavow his wrath. Gone were the stiff, practiced restraints that shackled his rage. It had full sway over the bard’s emotion, thought and action. The temper Erinhue had always sought to hold in check now had free reign, but the sword’s insisting demand had gone unanswered. <BR><BR> It was a sign of possible preparedness. The occasion had arisen once before, in confrontation with the dread Dark Lord, but the bard had not been ready and the transformation was temporary and incomplete. The trigger lay within the bard and this conflict with the Knight now seemed enough to set it off.<BR><BR>The ancient spirit, servant to Iluvatar, pondered again the task put in its charge, to counteract the evil that would invade the souls of Iluvatar’s children and lead them to despair and everlasting darkness. That evil was now gathered around this place just as those who would oppose it had been drawn here over time. Today they had all been gathered, some dimly aware that they were destined to take part in great events, some still unaware of the part they had been cast.<BR><BR>Perhaps it was the fact that they had all been gathered that drew the very evil that had befallen them, perhaps not, and yet the evil had been drawn and hovered even now in hopes of shadowing their minds and darkening their spirits. Already some had been driven away or sorely injured. One of the strongest among them (although he did not yet know it) lay upstairs locked in struggle upon another plane while another grappled with inner demons conjured from her past.<BR><BR>Unknown to him, the malevolent cloud had followed Culanir. The darkness in his heart and soul was still connected to the evil that had once held him in its grip. While he could not totally escape its taint, the bard, thanks to Agarak, had avoided the deeper connection that still ensnared the Gondor knight. Culanir had had no such protection and the darkness deep within him had served as a magnet drawing evil to this place, a concentrated evil that must now be disbursed, hunted and destroyed.<BR><BR>Agarak used its power to reach out to Aerin’s mind.<BR><BR>“Fear not Daughter of the Firstborn. No harm shall come to your beloved. Now gather all that you hold dear and take it from this place else it come to harm.”<BR>

<i>”Agarak! Agarak, Please help!”</i><BR><BR>The distraught words echoed in the half aware consciousness of the spirit that inhabited the dragonharp. The voice was fair sounding as summer rain falling on the petals of newly opened blossoms. It was also familiar. Agarak identified it as belonging to one of the Firstborn, the one called Aerin, bondmate to the bard.<BR><BR>The dragonharp was well aware of the fight raging on between its bard and the Gondorian knight. It was aware of the resurgence of the dormant trace of evil that had touched them both so long ago. It was also aware of the vague but sinister shadows gathering about the Inn.<BR><BR>Agarak took notice of something in the bard that had not been there before, something it had been biding time awaiting. The runesword’s blood lusting spirit was fully awake and screaming to slake its deadly thirst. The bard was enraged but he refused to pay heed to the savage summons or call the sword by name.<BR><BR>This time he did not hide or disavow his wrath. Gone were the stiff, practiced restraints that shackled his rage. It had full sway over the bard’s emotion, thought and action. The temper Erinhue had always sought to hold in check now had free reign, but the sword’s insisting demand had gone unanswered. <BR><BR> It was a sign of possible preparedness. The occasion had arisen once before, in confrontation with the dread Dark Lord, but the bard had not been ready and the transformation was temporary and incomplete. The trigger lay within the bard and this conflict with the Knight now seemed enough to set it off.<BR><BR>The ancient spirit, servant to Iluvatar, pondered again the task put in its charge, to counteract the evil that would invade the souls of Iluvatar’s children and lead them to despair and everlasting darkness. That evil was now gathered around this place just as those who would oppose it had been drawn here over time. Today they had all been gathered, some dimly aware that they were destined to take part in great events, some still unaware of the part they had been cast.<BR><BR>Perhaps it was the fact that they had all been gathered that drew the very evil that had befallen them, perhaps not, and yet the evil had been drawn and hovered even now in hopes of shadowing their minds and darkening their spirits. Already some had been driven away or sorely injured. One of the strongest among them (although he did not yet know it) lay upstairs locked in struggle upon another plane while another grappled with inner demons conjured from her past.<BR><BR>Unknown to him, the malevolent cloud had followed Culanir. The darkness in his heart and soul was still connected to the evil that had once held him in its grip. While he could not totally escape its taint, the bard, thanks to Agarak, had avoided the deeper connection that still ensnared the Gondor knight. Culanir had had no such protection and the darkness deep within him had served as a magnet drawing evil to this place, a concentrated evil that must now be disbursed, hunted and destroyed.<BR><BR>Agarak used its power to reach out to Aerin’s mind.<BR><BR>“Fear not Daughter of the Firstborn. No harm shall come to your beloved. Now gather all that you hold dear and take it from this place else it come to harm.”<BR>

Nienor_niniel stepped over to the window, undid the latch and<BR>allowed Silvertongue to flap angrily into the room. It cawed as if<BR>greatly irritated from being rudely inconvenienced.<BR>From its talons, a silver whistle fell to the floor. Fascinated<BR>by this tiny treasure carried by this unusual messenger,<BR>nienor_niniel picked up the whistle, looked at it with a mixture<BR>of fascinating and caution, then did something almost<BR>uncharacteristic: she put it to her lips and blew.<BR><BR>There was no piping sound. At that very instant, birds nearby<BR>fluttered to the window to share their song. Cows were heard<BR>lowing in the stables and horses ninnied as if singing.<BR>Dogs and cats joined in howls. Yet, the greatest marvel was<BR>Silvertongue, for instead of a caw, it opened its beak and the<BR>distinct sounds of a nightingale, and other song birds danced<BR>about the room.<BR><BR>For nearly a minute the very music of creation seemed to swell<BR>and converge on Parm's visitors in that little room.<BR>Along with the sound, there came something like the rush of<BR>wind. It did not beat against them aimlessly, but seemed to<BR>purposefully embrace them, wrapping them in its momentary<BR>power.<BR><BR>None could breathe.<BR>None wanted to.<BR>There was the hush of awe, the breathless wonderment of joy.<BR>Nothing could have prepared Parm's friends from this<BR>staggering display of power, loving in its gentleness, stunning<BR> in its strength.<BR><BR>What did it forbode? Why music? Why winds?<BR><BR>As if in answer, the crow hopped and began to peck at<BR>someone's concealed weapon. Then it shook its head,<BR>almost impatiently. It cawed and sang again. Then for dramatic<BR>effect, it mocked a kind of death, its wings splayed out, head<BR>askew.<BR><BR>What did it all mean? Was the music to be a weapon? <BR>Was Parm to wield something more powerful than dagger<BR>or sword?<BR>What could this seemingly even-tempered man of peace<BR>bring to a battle, except his own vulnerability? It was paradoxes<BR>wrapped into paradoxes. It was riddles within riddles, wheels<BR>within wheels...but oh! How is fascinated them all! Parm, it<BR>seemed, was not alone nor powerless, nor finished his duties<BR>here today. Something expansive of mindstaggering proportions<BR>seemed, like thunderclouds, to rise on the horizon of their<BR>minds. They, too, it seemed, were also being invited to be part<BR>of Parm's troop of warriors.<BR>

<i>Heather gladly took the young hobbit's hand and lead him carefully down the stairs and to the kitchen. She made sure that he was fed, even as she packed more food for the both of them; it was further to the Shire than the little lad thought. When everything was reay, she took him out to the stables, where she intoduced him to her milk white, elven mare. Once their 'vic tules' were securred in the saddle bags, the half elf healer hoisted the hobbit on to the horse's back, then swung up behind him.<BR>They spent the better part of the day riding in silence before a thought suddenly occured to her,</i><BR>"What part of the Shire do you live in, Willum?"